"Don't call her that," I hiss through clenched teeth.
My stomach churns, fury and fear twisting inside me. He has no right to speak to my daughter with such familiarity.
He does many things that bother me—murder, human trafficking, drug and arms smuggling—but his overfamiliaruse of terms of endearment for my daughter are what makes me insane.
Luchenko's lip curls. "She's only alive because of me. Her talents are wasted with you."
I know he's trying to rile me up, and as much as I try to calm myself, it's working. Judging from the look on his face, he's going to keep going until I snap.
He continues. "In fact, I'm surprised she lived this long… you can barely keep yourself alive, let another human being. If I wasn't here to collect her, I'm sure it would only be a matter of time until child protective services came to pick her up."
Yara's eyes flicker between us, showing a combination of confusion and hurt.
"Don't listen to him, baby!" I cry. "He's only trying to upset us both."
He cocks a brow. "Your mother is an idiot."
"You don't know what you're talking about. You are just a DNA supplier. You will never be her father."
"Well, you are a whore." He pauses, locking eyes with my daughter. "Yara, she told me she wished you'd died in the womb."
I spit in his face.
His hand cracks across my cheek in a blaze of pain before I can react.
My head whips sideways, my hair flying. The slap echoes down the alley.
I bite my tongue to choke back a cry, refusing to show weakness.
Luchenko grabs my chin, his manicured fingernails digging in. "You both belong to me, whore. Never forget that."
I jerk my head away. "I don't belong to anyone, especially not you. And neither does she."
But my stinging cheek betrays me, my hand pressed over it.
Luchenko chuckles. "Still living in fantasy land? You're mine. Always have been."
His hungry gaze rakes over me, and then turns to Yara.
"And I've come to collect what's due. Whether you decide to be stubborn or not, it's your choice. I can leave you here. But the girl is coming with me."
I glare at him. My defiance is only emboldening him further. I know he enjoys it when I fight. So I need to change tacks. "What about your wife?"
"Marie?" He shrugs. "She serves her purpose. It's a transactional arrangement at this point. She lives her life and I live mine. You know this, Alina. Why is it so hard for your little pea brain to comprehend?"
Despite his condescending tone, his eyes undress me as if my visible discomfort only excites him more.
I flush, my stomach knotting with unwanted heat.
I hate that he knows my body so intimately. That I'd even enjoyed his touch once.
His eyes feel like extensions of other parts of his body as they trail over me, and I shiver.
How could I ever let somebody so evil, so depraved, touch me? He's old enough to be my grandfather. I never wanted this life.
But Luchenko and my father had an "arrangement."
And then there was Yara.